


Revolt

by notallbees



Series: Revolt [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Imprisonment, Injury, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Canon, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Racism, Torture, Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/pseuds/notallbees
Summary: "Well well, if it isn't the little Lordling," the soldier taunted, his voice smug. "I didn't believe my men at first when they told me what a big, shiny fish we'd caught in our net."Lorenz lifted his head, wincing. He recognised the man; a Lieutenant named Mayr who'd been stationed on the Adrestian border for much of the war. "Lieutenant Mayr," Lorenz said with difficulty, his throat dry. "There's been some mistake—""It's Captain now," Mayr corrected him sharply. "And don't you worry, Your Lordship. You're here precisely so we can correct themistake."Dread settled in Lorenz's gut. "I don't understand," he said, looking up at the man. "Unless—ah. You're the one trying to seize control of Gloucester.""Trying?" Mayr echoed smugly. "Gloucester is under my control now, and the control of her people, the way it should be."When a coup threatens Lorenz's family and his people, he rides home to intervene, only to find himself taken prisoner along with his father.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Series: Revolt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2159592
Comments: 16
Kudos: 122





	Revolt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unrivaled_tapestry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrivaled_tapestry/gifts).



> Thank you for this amazing request, writing this has been an absolute joy!
> 
>   
> **Warnings:** Please note that reading this may _not_ be an absolute joy. Please check the tags, and see the end notes for detailed trigger warnings if you need them.

Lorenz was disoriented on waking. He sat up slowly, wincing at the fierce ache in his skull. He put a hand to the throbbing point on the back of his head, hissing when he felt a tender lump, and found his hair crusted with dried blood. 

Looking around, Lorenz's stomach curdled as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and he realised where he was. The prison cell was several yards across in either direction, furnished only with a thin straw mattress and a bucket. This had to be the dungeon under the local keep, the castle that had been Gloucester's ancestral seat until his father built the manor house. Lorenz understood that the place had been somewhat neglected in the years since, which no doubt made it the ideal place to keep someone you didn't want to be found. 

Gritting his teeth against the blinding pain that lanced through his skull each time he moved, Lorenz tried to recall what had happened. The last thing he remembered was crossing into Gloucester territory and taking the forest road toward the town. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. He must have been ambushed on the road. Precisely what Claude had warned him against, and precisely the reason that he'd requested a garrison of soldiers accompany him. If Claude hadn't delayed the order, Lorenz would never have been caught alone on the road. 

Lifting his aching head, Lorenz looked about the little cell. His feet were manacled, and there was but one small, high window guarded by heavy bars. He was the only occupant of the room, but he could dimly hear other voices along the corridor, though whether they might be guards or prisoners, he couldn't tell. 

As he sat trying to remember more about how he'd come to be there, he suddenly heard footsteps in the corridor outside, and then a key turned in the lock. The door opened after a moment, and a guard stepped inside, along with another man in soldier's garb. 

"Well well, if it isn't the little Lordling," the soldier taunted, his voice smug. "I didn't believe my men at first when they told me what a big, shiny fish we'd caught in our net."

Lorenz lifted his head, wincing. He recognised the man; a Lieutenant named Mayr who'd been stationed on the Adrestian border for much of the war. "Lieutenant Mayr," Lorenz said with difficulty, his throat dry. "There's been some mistake—"

"It's Captain now," Mayr corrected him sharply. "And don't you worry, Your Lordship. You're here precisely so we can correct the _mistake_."

Dread settled in Lorenz's gut. "I don't understand," he said, looking up at the man. "Unless—ah. You're the one trying to seize control of Gloucester."

"Trying?" Mayr echoed smugly. "Gloucester is under my control now, and the control of her people, the way it should be."

Lorenz swallowed thickly. "My father—"

Mayr snorted. "So that's why you've come." He bent down, sneering in Lorenz's face. "Well, you've arrived just in time, Your Lordship. I'm sure your Papa will be thrilled to see you."

Lorenz's eyes widened. Finding himself imprisoned, he'd assumed that his father was already dead. He felt relief and crushing disappointment all at once, knowing how close he'd come, only to fail. "Then...he is still alive?" he asked. 

"Aye, for what good it will do you both," Mayr said. "He's to meet the Goddess on the morrow." He tilted his head, a cruel smile on his face. "Are you the pious sort, Lordship? Perhaps you'd like to join him."

"You cannot be serious," Lorenz said, fear gripping his stomach in an icy fist. "M-my father may not have behaved honourably, but you cannot just execute us both! The Archduke will see you both hanged if you do." At this, Mayr only laughed, and Lorenz's desperation grew, turning his stomach. "What are our crimes? What of justice?"

Mayr took a step back, then he leaned forward and spat at Lorenz's feet. "Your crime, _my Lord_ , is that you and your traitorous pig of a father sold us out to the fucking Adrestians."

Lorenz's mouth was already dry. He tried to wet his lip with the tip of his tongue before he spoke. "We gave up very little territory to Adrestia—"

"And we wouldn't have had to give up _any_ , if it weren't for the Count betraying us." Mayr shook his head, gazing down at Lorenz with hate in his eyes. "And he gets off scot free, while our people starve."

Lorenz grimaced. His father—the _former_ Count of Gloucester—had been confined to the estate after his crimes during the war came to light. There had been a very long list of them; Lorenz suspected the only reason he yet lived was that Claude had no idea how Lorenz might react to Claude being the instrument of orphaning him. "Just because he hasn't been sentenced yet doesn't mean that my father won't be punished for his crimes," he said, with more surety than he felt. "The Archduke has a great deal to—"

"Oh, yeah, all hail the Duke," Mayr said, rolling his eyes as he paced the few steps before the cell door. "The same Duke that was too cowardly to take the fight to Enbarr. Who sat safe and cosy in Derdriu while our farmsteads were pillaged and our people made slaves to that _snake_ they call Emperor."

"How _dare_ you speak of Duke Riegan in that manner," Lorenz hissed, drawing himself up as best he could, despite his throbbing skull and the savage ache across his neck and shoulders. "If you believe in the Alliance, you should believe that the Duke will see that justice is done in the appropriate manner. We do not execute people in the street like Morfissians! My father must be taken to Derdriu for a proper trial—"

Mayr sneered. "He doesn't deserve a trial. Everyone here knows what he's done."

Lorenz snorted. "So you've appointed yourself judge," he said coldly. "And you have the audacity to call my father crooked."

A scowl crossed Mayr's face, and he drew back his fist and punched Lorenz hard in the face. The force snapped his head back and caused him to cry out involuntarily. He reeled from the blow, his face numbed by the impact, but when he put a hand up automatically to investigate the damage, Mayr caught his wrist and held it tightly in the air between them. 

"Let me go!" Lorenz cried, trying to free himself.

Mayr gripped his wrist more tightly. "You don't seem to understand yet, Lordship," he sneered. "There is no Count of Gloucester anymore. Not you, and not your stinking dog of a father. Gloucester belongs to her people now."

Lorenz's eyes widened, though his attention was pulled from Mayr's gloating by the creak of the door. Beyond it, he could see more guards waiting in the corridor. His heart began to pound, sweat gathering at his hairline. "What are you going to do?" he whispered, his voice weak and thready.

Mayr smirked as he released Lorenz. "Give our friend a proper Gloucester welcome," he said to the guards, clapping one of them on the shoulder. "Just make sure he's still alive at the end of it." With that, he turned and strode out of the cell, while the three guards gathered around Lorenz. 

Lorenz dared a look up at them, squinting through his swelling left eye. They were all unremarkable, dirty and sour-faced, though a certain ferocity lit their expressions as they moved closer to him. He wondered, desperately, if it was worth trying to reason with them, even to beg. Instead he raised his chin. "There is no honour in beating a bound man," he said, almost keeping the tremble from his voice. 

One of the men spat at him. "There ain't been no honour in Gloucester for a long time, lad." He grinned without humour, showing his missing teeth.

"Think 'e'll take 'is punishment like a man?" asked one of the other guards, cracking his knuckles.

The woman laughed. "Not if he's like his papa. Squealed like a pig when Mayr brought him in."

Lorenz lifted his head at the news of his father, but he was met with a vicious blow from a fist that caught him on the jaw, snapping his head to the side. A kick to his ribs took him to the ground, where he curled up tightly, holding his arms over his head, and tried as hard as he could not to make any sound. 

—

"I've been thinking," Claude said, holding his empty cup loosely as he looked over at Lorenz. "It might be time for a holiday."

Lorenz raised an eyebrow at him. "And what, pray tell, might one of those be?"

Claude chuckled softly. "I mean it," he said, and made a brief gesture that was clearly intended to beckon Lorenz to him. "When's the last time either one of us took a day off?"

"I am not a dog, von Riegan," Lorenz said with feigned offence, resisting the urge to go to him regardless. 

"But you're so loyal and well-behaved," Claude said, eyes twinkling with mischief. He gave his knees an encouraging pat. "Come on. Humour me. I don't think we've taken a day off since the war ended."

"Oh, but we have," Lorenz replied, sitting back in his chair. "I should have thought you'd remember it."

"Remember what?" Claude asked, eyes widening with insincere surprise. 

Lorenz laughed and rolled his eyes fondly. "If you think of a way to solve these trade disputes with Morfis, I'll be happy to consider your plan," he said, standing up and throwing down his sheaf of papers with a slap against the table. "Saints, I'm exhausted." 

"Have another drink with me," Claude said, getting up from his seat and crossing to where Lorenz stood, pinching the bridge of his nose. Claude's arms wound around him from behind, one reaching up to take his hand, interlinking their fingers. "You need to relax."

"Relax," Lorenz echoed. "I believe I've heard of the notion." He leaned back into Claude regardless, sighing heavily. "I _would_ like a few days' reprieve to ride to Gloucester. There is much I need to do there."

"That is _not_ a holiday," Claude chided gently. 

Lorenz huffed. "No, but I could not in good conscience abandon my duties when they need me so very badly." 

Claude hummed in agreement. "I'll find some time for you to go," he said, and kissed the back of Lorenz's neck. "But for now, have another drink with me. Maybe we can dance."

"Dance?" Lorenz asked, laughing. "There's no music."

"Are we going to let that stop us?" Claude teased, then he put his hand on Lorenz's hip and turned him around, sliding an arm around his waist once more. "The clock can help us keep time," he added, beginning to sway with Lorenz in his arms. "And those damn crickets are so loud they might as well be an orchestra."

"Claude, please," Lorenz protested, laughing softly. "I'm a terrible dancer."

"You're a wonderful dancer, and you know it," Claude insisted, the hand on his hip pulling him closer. "Now, I think we should—"

They were interrupted by a sudden, frantic knocking at the door to Claude's office. Without thinking, they sprang apart, and Lorenz unconsciously straightened his shirt where Claude had rumpled it. Claude meanwhile called for the intruder to enter, and Lorenz turned away as one of Claude's spies stepped into the room. 

"Varris," Claude said, all the humour gone from his voice. "What is it?"

"Archduke," the woman said, her voice tight and anxious. "It's a message for Count Gloucester."

Lorenz turned, surprised. "For me? What is it?"

"There's been a coup in Gloucester territory, my Lords," she said, addressing herself to Lorenz. "The Count—excuse me, the former count—has been kidnapped. We haven't been able to track the kidnappers yet."

Lorenz's insides froze. "I must go at once."

"Raise the council," Claude said to Varris before dismissing her and turning to Lorenz. "Lorenz—"

"I must go," Lorenz said again, his hand at his mouth. "I—flames, Claude, they'll _kill him_."

Claude was stern. "I won't let that happen," he said, "but you can't possibly ride out tonight. It's near midnight. You'll be lucky not to cripple your horse."

"I cannot possibly _wait_ ," Lorenz protested, brushing him aside and striding to the door, snatching up his jacket from where he'd left it. "I should have _been there_."

"If you'd been there, then _you_ might have been the one they'd taken," Claude said angrily, stepping between Lorenz and the door. "Think, Lorenz—"

"I _am_ thinking," Lorenz snapped. "Call up the garrison, _now_. They'll ride with me to Gloucester."

Claude scowled at him, placing a hand against his chest. "You know I can't do that."

"Can't or won't?" Lorenz demanded.

"Both," Claude said crossly. He gripped Lorenz's arms tightly. "Listen to me. Anything could happen if you go haring off tonight. At least wait until we've discussed it with the council."

"That could take hours," Lorenz said, shaking him off. "Meanwhile my father could be lying dead in a ditch."

"Then there's little you can do by racing to his side," Claude replied coldly.

Lorenz sneered at him, a rush of old, spiteful feeling flooding back to him. "I believe you _want_ him to be dead. It would save you the work of hanging him yourself, wouldn't it?"

Flinching away from him, Claude looked briefly stunned, enough to make Lorenz regret his words, but he replied before Lorenz could take it back. "I'd deal the blow myself if I thought it would rid you of this foolish desire to please a man who has betrayed you time and again," Claude said in a furious whisper.

Lorenz reeled back, staring at him in shock. Biting his lip, he steeled himself and pushed Claude aside. "Call the soldiers or don't," he said bitterly as he wrenched open the door. "I ride for Gloucester within the hour."

—

Lorenz lay in a stupor for several hours after the guards had left him. The beating had seemed to last hours, though it had probably only taken a few minutes. Taking stock of his injuries, Lorenz found that he ached from head to toe, and he was fairly certain that several of his ribs were cracked. 

After some time had passed, a guard opened the slot in the door and passed through a flask of weak beer. When Lorenz had managed to sit up without crying out, he sipped the sour beer slowly, wary that this might be the last sustenance he was given. He passed into a fitful doze after that, never quite falling asleep, but not quite awake either. The ache in his chest made it difficult to breathe, although he had at least grown used to the rancid stink of the place. 

When next he was awakened, it was by the creak of his cell door. Another prisoner was thrown into the darkness with him, the man letting out a weak cry when he fell against the bare flagstones. Lorenz waited until the door was closed, then shuffled awkwardly toward the newcomer. 

"Hello? Are you alright?"

"Who's there?" the man asked, struggling to right himself.

Lorenz's heart lifted a fraction when he recognised the voice. "Father," he said, voice creaky. "It's me."

When his father replied, Lorenz could hear the sneer in his voice. "What are _you_ doing here?" 

Lorenz swallowed. "I...came to rescue you."

"Rescue me?" his father echoed. "Seems to me as if you're doing a poor job of it."

Lorenz's ears burned. "I was ambushed on the road."

His father snorted. "Typical. What of your men? Were they killed?"

Lorenz closed his eyes. "I came alone."

There was a brief silence, as if his father couldn't understand what Lorenz had said. Then he barked out a humourless laugh. "I don't believe it. Just when I think you can't be anymore _useless_ , you still manage to surprise me."

"I was worried for your safety!" Lorenz protested, bristling at the insult. "I couldn't risk delay!"

His father gave a disbelieving snort. "Or did Duke Riegan refuse to issue you any troops?"

Lorenz recoiled, stung by the accuracy of the guess. "He did not _refuse_ , only delayed—"

"Ha!" his father said triumphantly. "Bedding that filthy usurper has turned you soft, not to mention stupid."

Heat flooded Lorenz's cheeks. He and Claude had not gone to great pains to hide their relationship, but still it was not something they flaunted, and he was thrown by the knowledge that his father knew of it. Lorenz couldn't help but wonder if he still had informants in the capital. He would not have put it past his father to still be spying on him, despite the fact that the man had been under house arrest for over a year now. 

"My relationship with the Archduke is none of your concern," he said, attempting to sound cool and collected. 

His father gave a derisive snort. "Need I remind you whose legacy you are spitting on?" he snarled.

Lorenz glared at him in the gloom. "Certainly not yours," he whispered. "You forsook any claim to my lineage when you betrayed us."

"Then why are you here?" his father sneered. "Why not away happily with that ill-bred mongrel of yours?"

"Because I—!" Lorenz shouted, then catching himself, broke off quickly. He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. "Because, Father, despite your vile misdeeds, I still have faith that some part of you is _good_ ," he said, clenching his fists in his lap, his throat growing tight as he spoke. "And because your life is forfeit to the Alliance, not to some mob of peasants."

There was a pause, then his father chuckled low and shook his head. "So you've even abandoned your noble principles for him."

Unease stirred in Lorenz's chest. "What do you mean?"

His father shook his head. "You used to believe that we served the people. That they have a _right_ to expect fair treatment of us, and judge us when we do not provide it."

"Who are _you_ to speak to me of treating our people ill?" Lorenz snapped. "You have betrayed them utterly."

"I tried to better things for Gloucester!" his father spat back at him. "Our people would have prospered under the Empire, while that bastard von Riegan has left them to rot."

"Enough," Lorenz muttered, shrinking away from him. "I will hear no more."

"He's the real traitor,," his father said, leaning closer to him. His voice turned oily. "We could bargain our way out of here, boy. Think of it. Our freedom for the head of the coward who sold our lands to Adrestia."

Lorenz refused to look at him. "Do not speak to me," he hissed. Then, raising his voice. "Guard!"

His father was undeterred. "We may yet find you a bride. Someone with low standards..."

Loreng gritted his teeth. "Enough."

"As many pretty foreign slave boys as you wish…"

"Enough!" Lorenz shouted, covering his ears, his eyes burning. "I've heard enough." 

He gasped when his father suddenly grabbed his wrists, wrenching his hands away from his ears. "Listen to me," he hissed, holding his bruised and mottled face close to Lorenz's. His eyes were sunken and dull, his skin and hair flat and lifeless. "I could get you out of here, boy. Our family name, our legacy—"

"Will end with me," Lorenz said coldly, cutting across him. "I will _die_ before I betray Claude."

"And where is he, this shining knight?" his father spat. He clenched Lorenz's wrists tightly, digging his dirty nails into Lorenz's flesh. "How long have you sat here? A day? Two? Why hasn't he come?"

Lorenz's heart clenched. His bottom lip trembled. "I—I don't know."

"Because you're nothing but a distraction to him. A convenience." His father snorted. "It's easier to bed you than to take your title by force."

Lorenz swallowed thickly and finally pushed his father away from him. "You know nothing."

His father only gave a bitter, humourless laugh. "We shall see."

—

At some point in the night the cell door opened once more, and Lorenz was kicked awake and dragged from his cell. Ever since arriving, he'd been unable to cast magic, which cemented his suspicions about where he was being kept; the dungeons beneath the old keep had magical wards etched into the stone which prevented spells from being cast in their vicinity. He had no magical means of escape then, only his wits and his waning strength. Having not received anything to eat since he arrived, he observed that it would be best to save his strength until he saw a clear opportunity for escape. 

Lorenz had never been captured by enemy forces during the war, though one of his lieutenants had been. As the most senior soldier among the ranks of the prisoners, the man had been tortured by one of Hubert's agents about Alliance troop movements, strongholds, and battle plans. Upon his rescue, Lorenz had visited the lieutenant in the healer's tent, and watched him sweat and try to hold back his screams while they operated on his broken fingers, and soothed his cauterised wounds. 

As the guards strapped Lorenz to a table, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, determined that they should have nothing from him but blood. Once he was secured, the guards withdrew, leaving him to lay in silence for several minutes. Try as he might, it was impossible not to reflect on how he'd come to be here, how he might have avoided all this if not for his impatience and wilfulness. Claude would be frantic if he'd heard about the ambush. The thought sent a chill through his gut; he had no reason to believe that Claude even knew what had happened. He might have set out the next morning at a march with his soldiers, believing Lorenz to be safely on his way. It was only ill luck, after all, that had brought Lorenz into the path of the seditionists when he crossed into Gloucester territory, as Mayr's words had made clear. 

He was startled from his thoughts by the clatter of footsteps from outside the chamber, then a low chuckle from Mayr as the man stepped inside. 

"Good evening, Lordship," Mayr said, standing over him with a smirk. "Looking a little worse for wear."

Lorenz said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. 

Mayr snorted. "No word of thanks for my hospitality?" He drew a knife from his belt, and used the flat of it against Lorenz's jaw to tip his face toward him. "Do I need to loosen your tongue for you, Lordship?"

Lorenz narrowed his gaze, though the pulse in his neck was hammering. "No need for that, Captain. Ask me a question, and I shall answer it."

"Does that mean you intend to cooperate?" Mayr asked, watching him with a wry smile. 

"I said I would answer," Lorenz replied shortly.

Mayr stepped back. "Alright then. Let's get started."

Mayr began by asking Lorenz many questions about Alliance troops and their commanders, and information about how other territories were being managed. Almost all of it was information he could readily come by using other means, so Lorenz answered briefly but honestly. He saw no use in irritating his captor more than was necessary, and he had a thin hope that his cooperation would grant him leniency when there came questions that he could not, or would not answer.

Such a question came soon enough. Mayr didn't pause between one question and the next, going directly from a question about grain allocation to, "And how many does the Archduke's private guard number?"

Lorenz could sense Mayr watching him and carefully did not meet his eye. "I am not aware of the precise number."

"Come now, Lordship," Mayr said in a conversational tone as he moved closer. "You and the Duke spend a great deal of time together, do you not?"

"I _am_ his first minister."

Mayr smiled over him. "And wouldn't his first minister know every detail of the Archduke's daily routine?"

Lorenz swallowed heavily, then lifted his gaze to meet Mayr's eyes. "I will not say a single word to you about Claude von Riegan, no matter what you threaten me with."

"Oh, I intend to do more than threaten you," Mayr said quietly. He crossed the chamber to the fire that burned in a low grate, the only source of illumination in the room, and pulled out an iron poker that had been resting in the coals. It scraped across the grate with a metal rasp that set Lorenz's teeth on edge, and made him strain unconsciously against his bonds. Seeing him, Mayr laughed. "Struggle all you like, you little maggot," he sneered. He held the glowing end of the poker over Lorenz's face; the heat of it made his skin tight from the heat, and silent, hot tears ran down into his hair. Mayr grinned above him. "The Archduke. Does he sleep at home, or at the palace?"

Images flashed in Lorenz's mind; Claude laughing as he reclined on a couch in the Gloucester townhouse in Derdriu, his shirt unbuttoned, a glass of wine in his hand; the sight of him sleeping, a beam of sunlight draping over him from a crack in the curtains; the two of them lying together naked on the sheltered terrace, Claude glorious and golden in the sun.

"I wouldn't know," Lorenz replied, managing to keep most of the shake out of his voice. 

"Now now," Mayr said, tilting his head. "I've asked you nicely, Lordship. You're not going to make me ask again, are you?"

Lorenz gritted his teeth. "I said I don't know, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

Mayr hissed, then he held the poker against Lorenz's shoulder, burning through the thin cotton shirt he wore and then sizzling against the flesh below. With great force of will, Lorenz managed to keep from crying out, but he wasn't able to keep silent entirely, issuing a bitten-off groan and clenching his fingers tightly. Mayr only kept the poker there for a second or two before withdrawing it, leaving Lorenz panting, his throat full of the stench of his own seared flesh. 

"Do we understand one another yet, Lordship?" Mayr asked smugly. "I can ruin a lot more than your fancy clothes."

Lorenz scowled at him. "What is your quarrel with me, Mayr? I regret that matters have kept me much occupied in the capital since the war ended, but I would have listened to your petition, had you bothered to bring one. I only want to do what is best for Gloucuester and her people. That is all I have _ever_ wanted."

Mayr shook his head. "Fine words, Lordship, but the truth is you _weren't_ here. Not while your pigfucker father was gutting us year on year, and not when that traitorous bastard who calls himself a Riegan gave half our lands away to Adrestia."

"I am here _now_ ," Lorenz said desperately. "Let me make amends!"

"Too late, Lordship," Mayr said, and leaned down over him. He pressed his mouth to Lorenz's ear, almost smothering him with the heavy, ripe scent of his clothing. "I'd order my men to use you like the daughters that were raped by Adrestian soldiers," he said in a low voice. "But rumour has it you enjoy that sort of thing."

Lorenz tensed. "I'm...sorry, to hear about the young women."

Mayr glanced at him as he straightened up, reading his face carefully. "I believe you are. For that, I'll spare you that indignity." He put a finger under Lorenz's chin and tipped his face up. "But give me one single reason, and I'll have your noble backside ploughed until you've got my men's leavings coming out of your nose. Understand?"

Lorenz swallowed thickly, then nodded once. 

"Good," Mayr said, shifting the poker in his hand. "Now, let's try again."

—

Despite some of his more overt threats, Mayr returned Lorenz to his cell with his eyes and his extremities intact. He bore hideous, agonising burns across his chest and thighs, while another on his jaw stung viciously with every minute twitch of his face and neck, but he was, for the present, whole. 

Lorenz lay on the thin straw mattress for several minutes, panting up at the ceiling, before he realised that he was alone. His father had been removed from the cell while he was gone. Lorenz squinted up at the tiny barred window, trying to determine how long he'd been in the windowless cell with Mayr. He hoped his father was still alive, then he remembered the words the man had thrown at him only hours before, and the hope ebbed away, leaving him to dwell instead on the quiet agony of his wounds. He longed for just a few minutes in the fresh air, just a few seconds away from the oppressive magic of the stone walls to cast one of the few weak Faith spells he'd mastered.

Lorenz had not allowed himself to sink into the fear that he may die here, but he did so now, unable to chase from his mind the golden memory of lying on the terrace with Claude. It had been one of very few days they'd managed to snatch to themselves in the long, grueling months since they signed the peace treaty with Adrestia. They had risen late and breakfasted in bed together, both giggling at the scandalised whispers of the servants, and then Claude had taken his hand and led him out onto the terrace without stopping to dress. He'd been so beautiful that day, his brown skin growing darker in the sunshine, his hair tousled from their tumble in the sheets, and his eyes and hands hungry for Lorenz. 

Tears stung Lorenz's eyes, then rolled down his cheeks. He clapped his hand over his mouth, trying and failing to stifle the staccato gasps that spilled from him as he began to sob, the spasms only striking him harder as he tried to suppress them. He longed for Claude so desperately that he ached to his core, and he curled into himself despite the pain of his burns and cracked ribs, clutching his arms against his stomach as he wept into the scratchy mattress. 

—

When he woke again, it was with the knowledge that they had come to kill him.

The day had dawned grey and cold, and Lorenz shivered as he was led out of his cell and above, up into the world once more. His hands had been bound with rope before he was led out of his cell, and guards surrounded him as he was marched into a wide courtyard, heaving with crowds of dirty, sneering peasants. They jeered at him as he squinted in the dull light, pressing in around the guards to pelt him with rotten vegetables, or to tug at his torn clothes and dirty hair. 

Shouting into the crowds, the guards pushed the people back and dragged Lorenz through the crush until they reached a wooden scaffold that had been erected in the middle of the square. Lorenz's heart quailed at the sight of it. There was no noose, at least as far as he could see, but that didn't comfort him. A blade or an axe could just as easily do the deed. One of the hardest and most striking lessons Lorenz had learned during the war and his time at the academy was just how easy it was to end a life. His feet grew leaden, his limbs uncooperative, as the certainty settled upon him that he was very close to his end. 

As they drew near, Lorenz noticed Mayr waiting at the top of the steps that rose to the scaffold. Despite the fact that the man was likely his executioner, Lorenz felt a brief, bewildering flash of relief at seeing a familiar face, someone that would pull him up out of this seething mass of hatred and spite. Sure enough, Mayr reached down to him as Lorenz set his foot on the first step, grasping hold of Lorenz's elbow and helping him to ascend without tripping. 

When he reached the top of the steps, Mayr turned him around, and Lorenz looked out at the sea of unfamiliar faces, all of them shouting and jeering, all eager to watch him die. Fear turned him cold, and he began to tremble as he stood there. He wasn't sure how he remained upright.

There was another commotion at the edge of the crowd, and as Lorenz looked out, he saw his father being led up to the scaffold too. Lorenz half expected to feel something at seeing him, some relief or sense of fellow feeling, but there was nothing. This doomed endeavour at rescue, and his father's despicable words to him, had killed whatever familial bond had remained between them. Lorenz felt only pity at seeing the weak, starved creature his father had become being dragged to the scaffold. 

"Reunited for the last time," Mayr said, smirking at Lorenz as the guards threw his father up onto the wooden platform. He looked from Lorenz to the Count, then back. "There isn't much family resemblance, is there?" he remarked in a conversational tone. "Are you so sure you're of noble blood, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester?" He held his arms out, indicating the surging crowds. "Maybe you're no better than the rest of us!"

Lorenz gritted his teeth. He'd heard such whispers since he was a child; his crest came from his mother's side of the family, after all. When he was young, he'd yearned to be more like his father, to please him, to earn his notice. Perhaps, unconsciously, he'd striven to display the noble qualities he knew his father lacked. 

"What sets us apart has nothing to do with noble blood," Lorenz replied coldly, "but the fact that I face my opponents fairly in battle, while you ambush and kidnap, and appoint yourself judge and executioner."

Mayr narrowed his eyes. "Every man and woman here is witness to your crimes. We don't need a judge to confirm that for us." He turned his back on Lorenz to address the crowd. "It's time to put the Gloucesters on trial!" 

A deafening roar surrounded them. More rotten vegetables were hurled at them out of the crowd, some of them striking Mayr's legs, though he appeared not to notice. Lorenz glanced sideways at his father, trying to catch the man's eye. His father had disappointed him in almost every way possible, yet he believed there must be some part of him, somewhere, that still cared for his son. 

Before he could meet his father's gaze, Mayr stepped between them and ordered his guards to push them to their knees. Both had their hands bound, and Lorenz grunted as he fell heavily. He heard his father sprawl face first on the scaffold, crying out as he fell. As Lorenz righted himself, Mayr grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back painfully. 

"I'm sure you all recognise Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, the new _Count_ , or so he likes to call himself," Mayr announced, then turned his head and spat down at Lorenz. Saliva spattered the side of his face, and began slowly to run down his cheek. 

Lorenz closed his eyes, trying to block out the jeering of the crowd. When he opened them again, he was aware of Mayr still speaking above him, but he could no longer take in the words. Everything came to him slow and distorted, as though he had suddenly been plunged underwater. He looked around, and flinched when his eyes finally alighted on the execution device mere steps away. He'd expected a rope, but instead he recognised a narrow bench with a vertical beam at one end, and an iron collar attached to the top of it. 

Grimacing, Lorenz forced his gaze away from the garotte, instead staring down at the wooden boards of the scaffold. When he managed to focus on what was being said once more, he realised that Mayr was nearing the end of his speeches.

"—the former Count of Gloucester. You are charged with aiding enemy troops, conspiring to overthrow the Alliance, and leaving us all to _starve_ while you helped yourself."

A round of jeers and booing followed this announcement, and Lorenz glanced around warily. Any dim hope he had of finding a friendly face somewhere in the crowd was quickly doused by the sea of furious, eager expressions.

"Anything to say for yourself, Lordship?" Mayr asked him in a mocking tone. 

Lorenz's father blinked rapidly, his eyes darting around with nervous haste. He'd lost the desperate bravado with which he'd asked Lorenz to save his own skin by sacrificing Claude. "P-please—" he stammered. "I—I didn't—" 

Mayr gave a derisive snort, and the rest of the Count's words were drowned out by the hollering crowd. Lorenz himself had to look away, disgusted by his father's weakness. 

"This court finds you guilty of all charges," Mayr said, his tone full of disdain. "And you shall die for your crimes." He paused, and when Lorenz looked up at him, he was horrified to see that Mayr was smiling. "But first, you'll watch your son die, and you'll think of the hundreds of people who called you master, and whose children died because of _you_."

Lorenz clenched his jaw tightly. He had expected to die, but he hadn't expected this: to be used as sport, nothing but salt in the wound of his father's punishment. It felt like a poetic final chapter to all that he had suffered here. His father was still snivelling—for his own life, not for Lorenz's—but Mayr turned his back on the man and focused his attention on Lorenz instead, gesturing to the knot of guards that stood around him.

"I hope you said your prayers this morning, Lordship," Mayr gloated as the guards hauled him to his feet. 

"Wait," Lorenz said weakly, looking about him in a panic. He tried to force his last ounce of strength into his voice. "Wait! You don't have to _do_ this!" He cut his gaze across to his father, who knelt with his head bowed, steadily avoiding looking at Lorenz. "Father—say something! _Please_!"

His father didn't raise his head. He didn't even flinch. As Lorenz watched him kneel, motionless, without a word of comfort for his only child, he was struck with a deep, resounding sense of regret, and a yawning sickness filled him at the realisation that he'd thrown his life away for nothing. Weakened by the knowledge, he fell pliant, allowing the guards to maneuver him without fighting any longer. 

Lorenz began to tremble when they lashed him to the garotte. He didn't attempt to struggle; there were far too many of them to make any escape attempt viable, but even if he could have stirred his uncooperative body, he dreaded the thought of appearing weak or lacking in conviction before the crowd. 

The people were like baying hounds, hundreds of them cursing him in chorus, and it occurred to Lorenz that through the long years of the war, nobody had ever wished him dead with such conviction as any person here now did. A hand grabbed him from behind, seizing a handful of his hair and forcing his head back against the wooden beam. Darting his eyes to the side, Lorenz saw Mayr draw the knife from his belt as he approached. Fear cut a vicious path through him, causing him to flinch, wincing when the ropes chafed him.

"Now now, don't piss yourself yet, Lordship," Mayr said, reaching out to him. "The fun hasn't started yet." Leaning close, he grabbed a handful of Lorenz's hair, and used his knife to shear off the hank just above his fist. "Don't want this getting in the way, do we?" he asked, throwing the shorn locks at Lorenz's feet. 

Lorenz squeezed his eyes tightly shut, though he felt hot tears escape, scorching down his dirty cheeks as Mayr methodically cut off his hair. Cool air blew against his neck in its absence, and Lorenz shivered while the crowd roared in approval. When he opened his eyes again, Mayr stood over him with a triumphant look on his face, still holding his knife in his right hand. 

"Last words, Lordship?"

Lorenz mustered the last shreds of his dignity and stared coldly back up at Mayr. "I die for Gloucester," he said, his voice slow and clear. 

Mayr smirked. "Truer words never spoken." He glanced behind Lorenz then and gave a nod, apparently signaling that the time had finally come. 

The iron collar was closed around his neck from behind, and pulled tight against his throat. Lorenz tensed, stomach lurching in sickening horror at what was about to happen to him. He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling sharply, but he couldn't seem to calm himself. Then Mayr turned his back on him, and in the same moment the collar juddered against his neck. It was several moments before he realised that it was slowly growing tighter as one of the guards rhythmically turned the screw at the back of the post. 

Lorenz stared up at the sky. Perhaps he ought to have prayed, but the only person in his thoughts was Claude. Just Claude, and all the things Lorenz wished he had said, and wished he hadn't. The collar grew slowly tighter, closing off his windpipe. He struggled unconsciously, straining against his bonds, but there was no escape.

As he began to gasp uselessly for air, a shadow passed over him, and it seemed to Lorenz as though the veil of death had covered him. He wished he could close his eyes, but he'd lost control of his body, and could do nothing except twitch and jerk involuntarily as the garotte tightened around his neck. Pressure roared in his chest and his head. He was aware of the shouts and screams of the crowd, but then the roaring pressure filled his ears and he could hear nothing, only a rushing like a powerful waterfall. His vision began to darken. 

Next he knew, the pressure around his throat loosened abruptly, and Lorenz unconsciously drew a hearty breath. Colour rushed back into his vision, but all that filled it were swirling shapes, a sickening rush of movement that made him lightheaded. 

"Lorenz!" 

A voice from far away. Lorenz leaned toward it, recognition an itch at the back of his mind. 

"Lorenz, can you breathe?"

Water splashed his face, making him gasp. There was solid wood at his back. Lorenz put a hand against the wooden slats, realising belatedly that his bonds had been cut. After a moment, he opened his eyes, but as he did so, that shadow passed over him again. He realised finally that he was lying on his back. The wide, grey sky lay open above him, in which a wyvern was circling not far overhead. 

"Lorenz?" A hand slipped beneath his neck, turning his head. A face leaned over his own. "Lorenz, can you hear me? Are you alright?"

Lorenz squinted, still unable to see clearly, but he recognised the cadence of that voice, its beloved timbre. "Claude?" he said, his voice weak, making barely a sound.

Claude's laughter was a sudden bark, almost more like a sob. "You're alive. Praise the gods." He grabbed one of Lorenz's wrists, pulling the arm up around his neck. "On your feet. Come on, soldier."

Grasping at him weakly, somehow Lorenz got his feet beneath him, wincing as Claude hauled him upright and the world span around him. His hands clenched reflexively around Claude's arms. "Claude?" he croaked again.

"Just hold onto me," Claude said, glancing around. "We're not out of the woods yet." 

Following his gaze, Lorenz saw Mayr at the edge of the scaffold, clutching a wound to his midsection. The guards had clearly been surprised by Claude's arrival, but even now were beginning to advance again. 

Ignoring them, Claude turned his head away from Lorenz, then gave a piercing whistle that made him wince. The wyvern that had been circling above their heads descended, alighting on the wooden scaffold as delicately as a cat. While the panicked guards scrambled out of the creature's reach, Claude hastily hauled Lorenz up onto her back. Wincing at the pressure on his injuries, Lorenz fumbled for a handful of Claude's heavy cloak, and then he gasped as the wyvern leapt into the air once more, leaving the pit of his stomach far below. 

Lorenz was dimly aware of Claude's arms around him, but he was struggling to keep track of where he was or what was happening around him. After a few minutes, he began to feel faint, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up on the ground with Claude leaning over him once more.

"...Claude?"

"Lorenz, oh, gods—" Claude grabbed one of Lorenz's hands, squeezing it tightly. "You passed out, you almost fell."

Lorenz blinked at him. He opened his mouth to try and speak, but his tongue was so dry, his throat tight and painful, that nothing came out.

"Here," Claude said, reaching behind him for a waterskin. He slid his hand beneath Lorenz's neck again, and gently tipped the spout to his lips. 

Gratefully, Lorenz took a few sips of the stale water, although the pain of swallowing soon made him give up. "How long was I out?" he asked, once he'd swallowed what he could.

Claude shook his head. "A minute? I'm not sure."

"Ah." Lorenz closed his eyes. It hurt to speak, and even when he did, his voice was nothing but a croaky whisper. Suddenly he remembered the Count. "My father—" he said, opening his eyes wide.

"Easy," Claude said, gently putting a hand against Lorenz's shoulder as he started to push himself up. Claude sighed, running his fingers through his hair, a sure sign that he was agitated. "My men were right behind me," he replied, clicking his tongue impatiently. "They'll get him out."

Lorenz relaxed against the ground. "How did you find me?"

Claude's mouth thinned, and he remained silent.

"Claude," Lorenz whispered.

Passing a hand over his pale face, Claude shook his head. "We got lucky," he admitted. "I saw the crowd gathering this morning."

A wave of nausea rolled over Lorenz at the knowledge that, had Claude flown a little further North or South, or had Mayr decided to dispose of him below ground, Claude would probably never have found him. "Oh." 

"Don't think of it," Claude said gently, still looking pale and drawn. "Do you think you can fly? I don't have a healer with me, I'm sorry, but there's a village nearby…"

"The estate," Lorenz croaked. 

Claude's eyes widened. "Of course." 

"Agatha," Lorenz said. "My old nanny. She's a tolerable healer."

"Good," Claude said, with a grim smile. He didn't need to add that Lorenz was badly in need of her care. 

With Claude's help, he mounted the wyvern once more. He leaned into Claude as they flew, comforted by the heat and weight of his body, by the strong arms that held him.

—

Lorenz was disoriented upon waking. He half expected to wake in a dark cell, and the brightness of the room startled him at first, so that he blinked back tears as he sat upright. He remembered all in a rush where he was; his old bedroom was as he'd left it, the thin drapes letting in the morning sunlight. Wiping his watering eyes on a corner of the sheet, Lorenz winced to realise how full his bladder was. He rose stiffly, and staggered into the bathroom to relieve himself. 

Lorenz's old nanny had cured the worst of his injuries the previous night, fussing and clucking over him like an old hen, but the aches and stiffness persisted, and the mirror in the bathroom showed him a haggard and brutalised ghost. After a perfunctory wash the day before, he was still dirty and bruised; one of his eyes was purple and green, and he wore a necklace of livid bruising around his throat. What remained of his hair hung limp and greasy, and Lorenz's stomach churned at the sight of it, his one attraction now ruined. 

As he stepped back into his bedroom, there was a clatter from without, and Claude suddenly burst through the door, wide-eyed and disheveled. "You're awake," he said, his gaze quickly taking Lorenz in from head to toe, as if checking he was all still there. 

"Claude," Lorenz whispered, his eyes stinging. He swayed on his feet, suddenly lightheaded, and reached out to catch himself on a nearby chair.

Claude flung a hand out to take his arm, but the sudden movement made Lorenz flinch instinctively. Claude's offer of assistance died in his throat.

Lorenz averted his gaze, his heart racing. "My apologies," he said, his voice hoarse.

"No, no," Claude said quietly, withdrawing a half step. "No apology needed."

Lorenz grimaced. "I must look a fright," he ventured, though his attempt at levity fell flat. "And no doubt I reek. Perhaps you'd draw a bath for me."

"Alright," Claude said, backing away another step. He put his hand up to his face, dragging his fingers down his unshaven cheeks. "Alright. I won't be long."

While Claude was busy in the bathroom, Lorenz hobbled over to the vanity and sat down heavily in front of the mirror. He didn't look into it immediately, still smarting from the brief impression of himself in the bathroom mirror, and instead took up his brush and began to drag it clumsily through the tangled mess of his hair. He realised quickly his mistake; his hair was horribly knotted, and the brush stuck fast in every snarl and clod of dirt. After a few difficult strokes, Lorenz's eyes filled with hot, furious tears, and he began to curse under his breath as he dragged the brush through the uneven strands of his remaining hair.

"Lorenz—Lorenz!" Claude was standing over him suddenly, and without warning, he wrenched the brush from Lorenz's hand. "What are you doing? You're hurting yourself!" 

Still weeping bitterly, Lorenz covered his face with both hands, turning away from him. "P-please—don't l-look at—hn—at me," he stammered.

"Lorenz," Claude said, his voice very soft. He crouched at Lorenz's side, and gently reached up to touch his wrists. When Lorenz didn't flinch away, Claude gave his arms a gentle tug, moving his hands away from his face. 

Lorenz cast his blurry gaze aside once more, unable to meet Claude's eyes. A tear rolled over his cheek, but Claude reached up and gently wiped it away with his thumb. "How can you even look at me?" Lorenz asked in a hoarse whisper. "I'm hhh—I'm h-hideous."

Claude frowned. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"M-my—hair," Lorenz managed between stifled sobs. "Y-ou must—f-find me—unsightly."

Claude startled him then by seizing his shoulders, surprising him into looking up. "I wouldn't care if you were _bald_ the rest of your life," Claude hissed, and Lorenz was horrified to see that Claude's eyes were red, his bottom lip trembling. "If I'd been a minute later—hell, Lorenz, you were half strangled to death, and the rest of you was half starved!"

Lorenz grimaced. "But…"

"You're _alive_ , Lorenz," Claude said, squeezing his shoulders firmly. "Gods, when I think of how close I came to losing you…" Trailing off, Claude's face crumpled, and he bent his head to press his forehead against Lorenz's knee. His hands slid down to Lorenz's wrists again, and he took a deep, shuddering breath as he gripped them tightly. "I can't do it, Lorenz. I c-can't lose you."

"Claude," Lorenz croaked, his insides twisting up horribly. He bent over Claude, pressing his lips into Claude's hair. "I'm here, love. I'm so sorry. Please don't cry."

Claude didn't raise his head, his shoulders shaking as he wept almost silently. He grasped handfuls of Lorenz's shirt, clinging tightly.

"Oh, Claude," Lorenz whispered, running his hands through Claude's hair as tears stung his own eyes. "Please, won't you look at me?"

After a moment, Claude finally lifted his head, his eyes raw, face wet. "I—I could never have forgiven myself if you'd died," he whispered, fumbling for Lorenz's hands, grasping them tightly when he found them. 

"I'm here," Lorenz said again, pressing their joined hands against Claude's face. His voice trembled; the sight of Claude so shaken was deeply unsettling. He'd never once known Claude to weep in all the years they'd known one another. "I'm safe, thanks to you."

Claude nodded. Closing his eyes, he brought Lorenz's hands to his lips and kissed his bruised knuckles, first one hand, and then the other. When he opened his eyes, he was himself again, more or less: his face calmer, more collected. "I know it must be unpleasant," he said, attempting a smile. "To look in the mirror and be reminded of it all. I'll have my barber come and see you as soon as we return to Derdriu."

Lorenz nodded. "Thank you," he managed.

"For now, how about that bath?" Claude urged, his voice still soft. "You'll feel better when you're clean. What's that you always say about cleanliness?"

"Ah." Lorenz gave an awkward, wet bark of laughter. "Cleanliness is saintliness."

Claude chuckled. "Uh huh. And 'only a saint would bed you smelling like _that_ , Claude von Riegan…' Have I remembered that right?"

Lorenz managed a weak smile. "Why do you always remember the precise words I've used to scold you?"

"I've had a lot of practice," Claude teased. He got to his feet, subtly wiping his face on his sleeve, then offered Lorenz his hands. 

"Perhaps I scold you too often," Lorenz said, mustering himself. He looped his arm through Claude's elbow, and with his assistance, went back into the bathroom. 

Claude helped him into the tub. Then, rolling up his sleeves, he filled a jug from the hot water and gently urged Lorenz to lean forward so that he could tip the water over his head. When Claude started to massage heady, rose-oil soap into his scalp, Lorenz gave an involuntary groan, his shoulders slumping as he finally relaxed. Claude was achingly gentle, taking care near his bruises, then he slid his soapy hands down to Lorenz's neck and began to work his thumbs and knuckles into the knotted muscle of his neck and shoulders. 

"Oh," Lorenz sighed, leaning into his touch. "Oh yes."

Claude kept patiently massaging his neck and shoulders, and Lorenz gradually relaxed under his attentions. When Claude freed a particularly nasty knot in his shoulder, Lorenz gave a shocked gasp, and then to his surprise, immediately began to cry again.

"Lorenz!" Claude said, pulling his hands away at once. "Did I hurt you? What's wrong?"

Unable to speak, Lorenz just shook his head, putting a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob. 

After a moment, Claude leaned down and gently put his arms around Lorenz, who gasped and clung to him tightly. "I've got you," Claude soothed, stroking his wet hair, not seeming to mind that Lorenz was soaking his shirt. "It's alright. You're safe."

Lorenz composed himself eventually, and once he was clean and dry, Claude led him back to the bed, where a servant had changed the soiled sheets and left them fresh once more. Someone had also brought a tray of fresh fruit and a cup of honeyed tea, which Lorenz eyed balefully for several moments before Claude sat beside him and took the tray in his lap.

"Do you think you can eat something?" he asked gently.

"I—perhaps," Lorenz said, though his stomach felt about the size and consistency of a walnut still.

Claude gave him an encouraging smile and lifted the teacup. "Start with this," he said. "It will ease your throat."

Lorenz drank a little of the tea, then patiently accepted a hulled strawberry that Claude held to his lips. 

"You needn't feed me like an infant," he complained, after the third piece of fruit that Claude had offered him.

"Perhaps I've always fantasised about hand feeding you peach slices while you gaze adoringly at me."

Lorenz managed a weak smile, but it must not have been particularly convincing, given the way Claude's brow furrowed. 

"Alright," Claude said, relenting. "If you're going to look _that_ pathetic." He put the tray to one side, and pulled back the sheets so that Lorenz could climb back into the bed, tucking him in carefully as he lay down.

"Wait," Lorenz said, as Claude straightened up once more. "Please—don't leave me." 

Claude smiled. "Not a chance. I'm just going to tell the servants to make sure we're not interrupted."

Lorenz subsided with a nod, and lay still until Claude rejoined him a minute later. 

They lay together for some time, facing one another with their legs tangled together, their fingers interlaced. 

"I suppose," Lorenz said at last, his voice weak, "you'll want to know what happened."

Claude grimaced. "We have the gist of it. You don't need to tell me anything if you're not ready. I already have enough to hang the dogs."

Lorenz closed his eyes, nausea rising in his chest. "Please—I've had quite enough talk of executions for one week."

"I'm sorry," Claude said, squeezing Lorenz's hand. "I didn't think."

"My father," Lorenz murmured. "Did your men manage to—"

"Retrieve him?" Claude suggested. "He's safe in his own room. With four of my men guarding him."

Lorenz nodded, closing his eyes briefly. "I'm relieved," he said quietly. "But...I think I'm mostly relieved that I won't have to deal with the paperwork."

There was a brief pause, then Claude laughed suddenly, making the bed shake beneath them. After a moment, Lorenz began to laugh too, weak and croaky. Once he'd started, he found he couldn't stop, and his laughter soon boiled over into dry, wracking sobs. Claude wrapped himself around Lorenz, holding him tightly as he purged the complicated mass of feelings that had lodged beneath his sternum. With each sob, he felt them dissipate little by little, until he finally calmed and lay still in Claude's arms. 

"Sorry," he whispered, once he could speak again. "I'm so sorry, Claude."

"The last person who should be apologising is you."

Lorenz grimaced. "I know."

"You should rest," Claude murmured, kissing his brow softly. "You must be exhausted."

"In truth," Lorenz replied after a moment, "I just feel...guilty."

Claude drew back to look at him. "What do you mean?"

Lorenz bit his lip. "I've always espoused the ideals of nobility, that it is our _duty_ to protect our subjects, but when my people came to me with their complaints, all I felt was...rage, and self-pity."

"Lorenz, they were trying to _kill_ you."

"And _my_ neglect has caused them immeasurable pain," Lorenz snapped. "Because _I_ didn't protect them, they have suffered. First at the hands of my father, and then the Empire, and now Mayr and his rabble." He paused, lowering his gaze. "What right have I to ask them _not_ to judge me?"

Claude huffed impatiently. "That is not the same thing as some torch-wielding mob baying for your blood."

Lorenz winced. "I know."

"Do you?" Claude pressed, squeezing his hand. "Because I need to know that you're really here with me. That I didn't leave some part of you behind on that gibbet."

"I—" Lorenz began, pausing when he realised that he didn't know what to say. 

"Lorenz." Claude shuffled closer, reaching up to cup Lorenz's face gently. "Tell me you understand that you did not _deserve_ what happened. Any of it."

Lorenz swallowed thickly. "I understand."

Claude nodded. "Good." He sighed, withdrawing his hand. "It was wrong of me to try to stop you from going."

Lorenz raised an eyebrow at him. "Patently not."

Claude shook his head. "No, I mean—" He broke off, and let out a frustrated sigh, running his fingers through his hair. "I shouldn't have tried to force your hand by delaying your troop escort. I should have known that wouldn't work. I thought I could...out-stubborn you. I wish I'd mounted up myself and gone with you."

"Then we _both_ might have been on that gibbet," Lorenz scolded gently. "I was in the wrong. You were right to try and make me wait."

"Obviously," Claude muttered, rolling his eyes fondly. He reached for Lorenz's hand again, interlinking their fingers, though he didn't meet Lorenz's eyes. "I was so afraid—that the last words we said to one another would be in anger."

Tears stung Lorenz's eyes. "Claude—"

Claude laughed weakly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry again," he said, though his own eyes were damp once more. 

"Then perhaps you should stop talking," Lorenz said thickly, dabbing at his eyes with a corner of the sheet.

"Mm...nah," Claude teased, grinning at him. "You love it when I talk too much."

Lorenz laughed wetly. "I love a lot of things about you," he said after a moment, watching Claude with wary eyes. 

Claude's eyes widened briefly, then his face softened and he briefly cast his gaze downward, biting his lip. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, a smile tearing across his face. He kissed Lorenz's knuckles, then he reached up and brushed an uneven lock of hair behind Lorenz's ear. "I love a lot of things about you too."

"Claude," Lorenz sighed, warmth suffusing him for the first time since he'd been taken. He smiled and leaned in to kiss him, clutching at his shirt. "I was afraid too. I thought I'd missed my chance to tell you."

Claude cupped his face gently. "Let's not part on poor terms again, alright?"

"Of course," Lorenz agreed, nodding. "I couldn't bear it."

"Sleep," Claude instructed, kissing his forehead again. "I'll be here when you wake."

Lorenz smiled at him. "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> [find me on twitter](https://twitter.com/notallbees/status/1352731958749655040) | [read my claurenz fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=33628345&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&fandom_id=23985107&user_id=notallbees)
> 
> **Warning:** Please note that this story contains the following potential trigger topics:
> 
> violence against a main character  
> depictions/descriptions of torture  
> threats of/references to rape  
> attempted murder  
> survivor's guilt  
> low self-worth  
> trauma  
> implied homophobia (not really a thing in the context of the world _but_ a character's sexuality is used against him)  
> emotionally abusive parent


End file.
